


The Day After Tomorrow

by GoodLuckMochi



Series: Tomorrow [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodLuckMochi/pseuds/GoodLuckMochi
Summary: Harry finally returns home, only to discover Draco appears to have moved out. He locates a journal gifted by Hermione, now with entries by Draco, and enlists Hermione's help to find out what's happened.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Tomorrow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566109
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Homecoming

Harry Potter released a deep sigh, swiping his thumb over the ward plate in his front door and letting his duffle bag drop from his shoulder to the crook of his inner elbow, then slide to his wrist as he tried to let it settle quietly on the floor just inside the entryway. He leaned down to release the top laces, then toed off his dragonhide boots, favorites because they were practical and didn’t wear out nearly as quickly as his trainers had, and they’d been a thoughtful gift from Draco years ago, replaced whenever Draco became concerned at their integrity.

He wasn’t sure whether Draco would be home, but he hated to disturb the perennially exhausted Potions Master. He hadn’t seen or heard from his lover in so long, he didn’t look forward to the verbal lashing he was certain to be in for once he finally got to see him. He deserved it, he knew he did. As much as Draco’d had a couple of trips for work, he’d actually been sleeping in their bed so long as he was within the country. Harry… Harry hadn’t done that. Harry had been crashing at Ron and Hermione’s place, at Molly and Arthur’s, at Luna’s, at Neville’s. He’d passed out in hotel rooms while on the job, slept on the Knight Bus.

Harry had missed Draco. And he’s not sure how things had gotten so hectic that he’d first managed to spend a week away from home without leaving the country. But it had happened once, and then it had happened again, and then he’d been out on assignments and then he’d been in Mungo’s and he’d thought he’d at least see Draco there during one of his visits but he never did, somehow.

The place was dark, so if Draco was home, he’d be in bed.

Something felt off, though. The place felt more vacant than it ought. The smell was a bit off, like no one had used the kitchen for a little bit too long. Like no one had opened the front door.

His eyes darted about the living room, but nothing seemed amiss.

No, wait, the bookshelves looked strange. It was too dark to see clearly, so he approached the nearest one and realized its shelves were nearly completely bare. He tried to ignore the chill racing up his back. The nearest bottom shelf had a scattering of slender volumes, and Harry absently gave his wand a twitch to bring the lights on so he could get a better look at what remained.

A couple of travel guides Harry’d picked up for work ages ago and forgotten about once the tasks were done. There was a duplicate for Italy, which once noticed, Draco had teased him about while listing off lewd Italian words for Harry to try to slip into conversations while on that assignment. He lifted his head and looked around and realized all of the bookshelves had been virtually emptied, save the ones to either side of the Floo that he and Draco had filled with books and activities for children of all ages on the lower shelves, and the upper shelves devoted to more adult topics and general entertainment for guests.

The shelves had been emptied long enough ago that dust had collected on them, leaving clear rectangles where Harry had picked up the tour guides he’d first spotted.

What was going on?

“Draco?” he called, getting to his feet, a sense of dread forming in the center of his chest.

He strode down the hallway, past the kitchen and dining room, past the guest rooms. All the doors had been left open. Each room was immaculate at a glance, but he didn’t spare any time to explore on his way to the bedroom, he just needed to find Draco.

The bedroom was dark, empty, and cold. The bed had been made, and everything visible was neat and in its place. His nightstand was untouched, still slightly cluttered but he’d eventually convinced Draco to stop organizing it for him because he preferred it the way he’d left it, and the other man had respected Harry’s need for complete control over it.

He checked in the bathroom, next, and realized it was nearly barren. Their shared tube of toothpaste was still there, but there were no toothbrushes. His own, he knew, was in his leather duffle, still in the entryway. The hand soap was also there, and a hand towel, but none of the things Draco left behind even during away trips remained: his full sized bottle of cologne, his aftershave, his expanded line of skin and hair care products – he had a miniature kit sized version of his preferred staples and left what he considered bonus products at home. A shaking hand lifted to tug the medicine cupboard open, and his stomach somersaulted, finding a still nearly-full stock of standard household potions and healing swabs, but none of the oddly specialized selections Draco insisted on keeping on hand were in evidence.

Draco’s side of the walk in closet was bare, and Harry stumbled a bit on numb legs as he made his way to check Draco’s bedside table, his foot catching on the corner of something mostly under the bed. The bedside table was empty of the pot of hand cream Draco had kept there - devoid of potions manuscripts and Draco’s favorite bottle of lubricant, no Italian leather house slippers tucked beneath - save for a box of disposable facial tissue in the top drawer, and a layer of dust.

He craned his neck, finally, to see what had caught his foot and saw the corner of a leather bound book. Sliding it out from under the bed with two fingers, it looked unfamiliar, until he turned it over and saw the embossed _Journal_ on the cover, matched along the spine.

The book Hermione had given him, that had been just supple enough to stay put on his bedside table and hold his glasses safely overnight.

Draco had moved it.

Draco had… used it? Harry flipped to the first few pages and spotted Draco’s old fashioned, perfect penmanship. Reading the first couple of pages, a small smile flitted across Harry’s face. Of course Draco would think to use this book. He was a closet romantic, himself.

Curious, after finishing the first entry Harry absently flipped through the pages to see how much of the journal had been filled in, and was mildly horrified to discover it was nearly half full already.

How had he missed so much?

How long had Draco been waiting?

There were no dates included, but he remembered when he’d gotten the book. Over two years ago now. Draco’d been waiting over a year.

Draco’d missed Harry’s birthday, he realized.

…Harry had missed Draco’s birthday, first.

Merlin, Draco had left him. Harry’d been a shit boyfriend and Draco’d had enough and Draco had finally left him.

Harry scrambled to his feet, book clutched to his chest, a buzzing in his upper arms and thighs and he was vaguely aware that his knees weren’t feeling so steady and by the time he crossed the bedroom threshold he’d fallen into a scrabbling crawl, the book jammed between his teeth as he made his way toward the Floo to contact Hermione.


	2. Silken Grey, Molten Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione does her thing.
> 
> Not at all pleased with some of this, but I've yet to figure out how to unwrinkle it... rather than letting the snag force everything to a halt, however, I'm just going to go ahead and share this as-is, and hope to one day straighten it out to my satisfaction.

“It certainly looks like he’s gone,” Hermione admitted after a tour of the flat. She was dressed in her pyjamas and a fluffy seafoam green housecoat, fuzzy slippers in the shape of books devouring her at the ankles (no doubt inspired by a certain infamous Care of Magical Creatures text). Her face was drawn, lips thin and the skin around her eyes tight. “I knew he’d been having trouble getting in touch with you but he never indicated he’d considered leaving home. I… I should have checked in with him more often than I had been. Merlin.” Her voice quivered and a hand fluttered to her mouth as her eyes widened and began to glimmer in the dim light of the living room. “I promised him I’d have you Floo him months ago, do you remember? And you swore you would but- Didn’t you?”

Harry remembered that Sunday, remembered how flustered Hermione had been, so far along with Rose while still working full time and trying to help Molly wrangle the family outside and away from underfoot. Harry remembered George and Ginny slamming into him on either side, herding him outside to a family Quidditch match, and telling himself he’d Floo after the game, when things had quieted down a bit, though he was glad Hermione had seen Draco and the man was doing alright.

He shook his head slowly. “I lost track of time, and then I… there was always something. Ron wanted my opinion on a case at work, Arthur wanted to show me some Muggle thing he had questions about, Molly insisted I hadn’t eaten enough and needed a sixth serving, Fleur wanting to catch up as she’d been to see her family in France for a fortnight and the Sunday before that the kids had been home sick and she and Bill hadn’t been able to join everyone at the Burrow, and… it just went on, and on like that. Luna, I guess, Luna said something odd about how sad something was but I didn’t hear her clearly and then Charlie had pulled her away to dance.” Guilty eyes eventually drifted up to look at Hermione. “I forgot. And then it was late, and I Flooed back to Hogwarts.” His mouth worked silently for a few moments. “Hermione, why would I go to Hogwarts rather than home? It makes no sense.”

Hermione stared down at him where he’d curled up on the couch, wrapped around a Molly-knitted throw blanket he remembered Draco favoring. Her brows were drawn together and she tugged at the end of a cluster of curls. “It makes no sense,” she agreed. “Everyone’s come to terms with Draco, he’s grown more than any of us could have imagined. He and I were friendly, Ron too. If nothing else, Molly loved how you’d practically glow whenever he joined you. She’d have been asking after him during Sunday lunch, but I don’t think she has. And I should have kept you in from playing and stuffed you through that Floo to see him- Oh, Harry,” she whispered. “He looked so hopeful when I told him I’d make sure you talked to him. He’d not been well, I could see that much.”

His stomach gave a nauseous swoop; rather like the sort experienced when a broom malfunctioned at a great height in the air and began an uncontrolled plummet. “Not well?” His hands clenched in the plush material of the throw. “What-“

“He looked like he hadn’t been getting enough sleep. Like he hadn’t been… Harry, he must’ve been so worried about you.” She lowered herself to sit beside him and rested a warm hand on his forearm. “No one informed him of your hospitalization the previous month. Harry, something’s very wrong. This isn’t normal. Isn’t he your emergency contact?”

Harry just stared at her helplessly, a high pitched whine swirling through his head, jostling his thoughts out of order and leaving him confused and afraid.

When it became clear that he had no idea what to say, Hermione gave his arm a light squeeze. “He works at St. Mungo’s, we should have a word with some of his co-workers. Someone will know what’s been happening.”

“Mungo’s,” he repeated, and pulled the balled up throw more tightly to his chest. It poked at him, and he looked down, perplexed, before remembering the attempted shared diary. Carefully unwrapping it he held it out to Hermione. “He left this. I don’t know if it was on purpose, it was nearly under the bed.”

She eyed the book with clear recognition before accepting it. After waiting for a nod from him, she gently opened the book and turned the cover pages to the first entry and began to read. Harry watched the play of emotions across her face: a small grin, intrigue, a soft smile. “How much of this have you read?” she asked, pinching the pages and letting them flip from under her thumb, checking to see how far Draco had gotten through the thing before reaching the end. When she found only blank pages, she slowly went back to the last entry and glanced at the bottom, only for a moment – her lips pinched and she quickly closed the book, eyes clouding.

“Just that first one, really. I went to call you once I’d finished.” He tightened his grip on the throw, staring down at the hair on his big toe knuckles. He didn’t want to look her in the eye. He knew what she’d say next.

“You should read the rest, Harry,” she told him, predictably. Holding the book out to him, “At least the last entry, anyway.”

He accepted the book and gripped the covers, but hesitated to open it. He knew he should read it, and he didn’t want to be alone when he read about how angry Draco was with his behavior. Draco was one of the most articulate people Harry knew, and would carve into people with surgical precision when upset and on the verge of losing control. Harry didn’t think he was quite prepared for that, but he also knew this wouldn’t get any easier by waiting.

Pages fanned out, book spine resting on the wad of plush blanket, and Harry narrowed his focus down to the last entry. He flattened the book out, glancing at Hermione for one last look of reassurance, before looking back to the pages.

The final entry was surprisingly short, and not at all angry.

Harry finished the entry with a confused frown. “Theo decided it wasn’t safe?” he murmured to himself, not noticing Hermione’s raised eyebrows. He flipped back another page, causing his eyebrows to snap together and guilt to well up in his throat, cutting off his air for a moment. Fingers traced the entry. “I missed our anniversary, as well. I’d completely forgotten.” He released a breath of exasperation and rolled his eyes. “Of course I did, like everything else.”

“Harry?”

“It says he's gone to live with Blaise,” he told her. “It says… he couldn’t brew anymore. I guess his hands are unsteady. Theo told him it wasn’t safe to live alone,” Harry explained, his voice beginning to wobble. “So Greg and Blaise packed his things up and moved him over to Blaise’s place.”

Hermione got to her feet with clear purpose. “Then we’re fire calling Blaise. We’re fire calling every one of his friends until we get useful answers. Do you know his Floo address?” She shuffled over to the vase of Floo powder, enchanted to look like it held a fresh bouquet of Narcissus and Lilies, grabbing a pinch.

Harry thought he ought to remember, with as many times as Draco had fire called over to Blaise before things had got… weird. “I don’t… I can’t remember.” His brows drew together in bafflement, and he stared at Hermione, almost hoping she might have a technique to stir his memory.

She cocked her head at him and drew her wand, searching his expression, examining his body language. “Let me just check something,” she murmured, before drawing a large circle around him from her perspective, and adding little squiggles, swirls, flicks and jabs. The air filled with colors, shapes, and a strange density Harry hadn’t been aware of until it enveloped him.

It was a perfect sphere of space, he saw, peering around himself. Colors ebbed and flowed around him, but the silken grey speckled with yellow and burgundy almost created a shell, except that he had the impression the shell was the invisible barrier keeping that particular color away from him. Reds, blues, yellows, all the colors in between. Colors that moved like water, like sand, like growing and withering plants, like a breeze over fields, pulses like sound frequencies made visible. Harry reached out a hand as though to touch the speckled grey, and felt a stab of anger when he realized the color danced away from his fingertips.

“Is that normal?” he asked, not sure whether he’d like it to be.

“No.” Her lips had thinned, and she gazed around the room. “I suspect there’s something similar around me, around _everyone_ who’s drifted away from Draco. Or more specifically, there's something like that around all of his traces.” She motioned to the empty bookshelves, and Harry saw that the shadow of speckled grey was the predominant color there, while the guest shelves were more evenly shared between the grey and a deep, liquid gold swirling with winks of silver and sapphire. The other colors flickered around as though unsettled, but the primary swatches were speckled grey silk, and studded, liquid gold. “Something’s keeping Draco away from us. Something’s preventing us from thinking of him seriously.” She paused, eyeing his lap. “The book is almost solidly him, though, and you haven’t let go of it for long since you’ve picked it up, have you?”

Harry shook his head vaguely, holding the journal more tightly. “Except for letting you read it.”

“Good. Don’t let it go, don’t let anyone walk away with it. I think something about it is, well, re-establishing your connection with him.” Her brows drew together and she peered around again. “Did he take everything else of his with him? His favorite blanket, mug, decoration?”

He glanced around, saw the bare spots on the walls and on the mantle. “I haven’t checked the kitchen, but he might’ve done?” he spoke as though it were a question.

She nodded to herself. “It was a silver one, wasn’t it?” she asked as she moved to see for herself. When she returned from the kitchen she wore a triumphant smile. “I wonder if whatever this is was responsible for him clearing out virtually everything else that might’ve brought back your link to one another. Unconsciously, the same way it altered our behavior. Ooooh, you would think after all these years I’d stop being surprised at what magic can do,” she said, eyes narrowing as she focused on the middle distance. “It seems so fantastical, and at the same time so cold. Someone had to conceive of the result and figure out how to bend reality to their will. This is the sort of thing that makes me dislike magic.”

“If everyone used magic this way, I might’ve agreed with my uncle on the subject,” Harry admitted.

Hermione quirked her lips with distaste, but gave a short nod. Then she dropped to her knees before the Floo and called into the fire. Harry couldn’t see who she’d contacted, nor could he hear what they were saying to one another, but his best friend was nodding vigorously and pulling her head from the fire. “Got it,” she told him, before making another call. This time she bent further forward and began bellowing into the fire – “Zabini!” and more, completely ignoring the late hour and things like manners.

Merlin, Harry had the best friends.


End file.
